


Some other time...some other place

by Chaotic_heart



Series: Captain America - Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers feels [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky trying to do the right thing, Don't be too sad because I might make it right, Fluff and Angst, Foreshadowing, M/M, Possibility of a sequel, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Steve Feels, catws, drunk Bucky, sweet and sassy Bucky, trees are not Bucky's friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 05:23:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2456369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaotic_heart/pseuds/Chaotic_heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve risked everything to save Bucky from Zola and he'd do it again in a heartbeat. But now Captain America is a little annoyed with his Brooklyn pal because just why in the heck should he have to go looking for him when Bucky should darn well be the one coming to look for him?</p><p>Or the one where Bucky talks about things that were just never meant to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some other time...some other place

Steve heard Bucky before he saw him, or even realized he was desperately searching for him at all. Not desperate in a life or death way, but definitely in an annoyed way. And yes, Captain America in all his Stars and Stripes glory got annoyed…was annoyed, and anyone who didn't like it could just—well, they could just spit.

Because Steven Grant Rogers had a major beef to gnaw over with Bucky—his tortured and hostaged, oldest and dearest friend, James Buchanan Barnes. The same Sergeant Barnes who Steve hadn't seen for almost thirty-six hours after completing an exhausting march from Bucky's previous accommodations to the encampment. They'd been separated immediately, Bucky shuffled off to the medical tent while Steve was hustled to speak to the powers that be, including Peggy whose elation at first seeing him had quickly turned to worried disappointment and unhappy glaring. 

Apparently, rescuing an army of men didn't make up for going against orders to save said men. And heck, Peggy had even been in on it in the first place. Of course, her anger was more than likely justified now since Steve had managed to avoid being alone with her for the majority of the day. He'd even hid like a bratty child when she turned up at his tent after supper. Obviously, he felt guilty about it, and, in his defense, he had planned on apologizing to her _after_ Bucky finally showed up to talk to him…which never happened. 

And that was the reason Steve was stumbling around in the dark, following a single flame of light, and the familiar, and annoying, boisterous cackling of his wayward friend. He would have much rather been getting some shut-eye or spending precious moments reconnecting with Bucky, moments he'd missed dearly since they'd last seen each other. 

The least that darn jerk could have done was sought Steve out after having his behind saved from the darn Nazis, and Steve intended on giving him an earful on manners and just plain friendship. Granted, Bucky had said thank you a dozen times or so, his manners not completely lacking, but Steve was still annoyed and frustrated, with a little touch of melancholy, whimsy and need for Bucky's attention mixed in. _Dammit._ He was so glad to see his ugly mug again.

Steve was a big man and not just with regards to his new appearance. Bucky had taught him humility and grace in between bouts of getting his ass whipped for just plain stupid pride. He'd hung on to those traits, holding them tight within himself like secret plans to make him a better man. That's why he could—would—readily admit he felt selfish in not wanting to share his friend, at least for a little while.

The shindig was in full swing when Steve climbed the hill and looked over the other side, with Sgt. Bucky Barnes as the life of the dang party. Some things just never changed, and that made Steve's lips curl up in a dopey grin, his heart beating gratefully against his ribs, despite the look of seriousness he'd been trying to maintain.

"Darn you to heck, big jerk," Steve mumbled under his breath, taking careful, measured steps down the short incline. Bucky Barnes had a way of loosening Steve up whether from up close or afar. Yeah, just darn him to heck.

"Stand at attention, you meatballs." He heard a familiar someone hiss when he approached the group. "All hail Captain America!" Bucky's voice was unmistakeable even with the trace of booze slurring his words and the lack of an actual body for Steve's gaze to identify.

"At rest, men. I thought this was a celebration?" Steve quipped as he attempted to casually peer through the crowd gathered to welcome him. He smiled wide, squaring his body and lifting his chin, stretching himself away from the round-shouldered posture he'd mastered when he was young. Sometimes bad habits were hard to break. Enter Bucky Barnes.

"Well, you're the one we're celebrating so I guess we have to go by your rules, Cap."

Steve turned in almost a full circle, his gaze finally latching onto the precocious man he'd been searching for. "Never knew you to follow too many rules, _jerk._ "

A flurry of activity suddenly landed square at Steve's feet.

"We're sorry, Sir. The commander said it was all right if we had some down time. We meant no disrespect."

Steve could barely make out the features of the young man crouched in front of him, except he was smaller than the average soldier he'd encountered. Memories flooded his mind but rather than wallowing in what had been, he gently tapped the guy's shoulder, encouraging him to rise from the dirt. 

"I never meant to—oh! The jerk thing, right? That was only a joke between friends. I wasn't really calling Bucky, er, Sergeant Barnes, a jerk. Well, maybe I was, but that has no bearing on…please, just stand up?"

"Told you he was just a regular punk," Bucky said with a dramatic bow in Steve's direction. "Gonna rat us out about the booze, _Sir?_ "

"Cut it out," Steve hissed. He kindly refused the flasks that were suddenly thrust in his direction, noticing the looks of confusion and even rejection. "Alcohol and I don't have a good relationship, but thank you just the same."

Bucky moved closer, winding a hand around Steve's bicep and squeezing with a little more force than Steve was sure he intended. He stank of booze, cigarettes and hard-earned sweat, but underneath the stench, his familiar scent warmed Steve inside.

"Not supposed to drink with the troops, Stevie—I mean, Captain. Sir. Sorry. Sir. Pardon me. Sir." 

Bucky chuckled as he punctuated each word, his eyes lowering and chin dipping to his chest. His grown-out hair stuck up haphazardly here and there, reminding Steve of the rough and tumble boy who'd saved his neck more than a time or two. The simple, _angelic_ pose mixed with the seemingly apologetic words might have fooled many, but the act was a rather obvious fake-out, at least to someone who'd seen it a hundred times before in varying situations.

Steve hushed his voice, his words only meant for the snickering man now plastered to his side and slightly wobbling at that. "Oh can it, Barnes." He paused, eyes straight ahead as he took a moment to revel in Bucky's closeness. Then, "I've been looking all over for you."

"Never knew I was lost," Bucky growled purposely. His next sentence was defiantly louder. "At least not today, right boys?" He guffawed, chugging from his flask at the same time, yet somehow managing not to spill a drop. Steve knew the feat had come from a lot of practice.

He followed Bucky to the body of a fallen tree, settling down beside him, and again refusing the good intentions of the men who offered him a better spot. Bucky swallowed the last of his drink as out of nowhere another was pressed into his hands. After drawing a long swallow from it, he turned his hazy gaze on Steve.

"Rumor has it you have other things to while away your time." He winked at Steve, blue eyes glowing in the embers of the fire. "I didn't want to interrupt any private time between you and your Officer Carter."

"Bucky," Steve hissed again. He gave his friend a sharp elbow to the ribs, instantly regretting it when Bucky doubled-over on the log. "Oh, dad-blamed. I'm sorry."

Bucky raised up again, a twinge of pain still squinting his features. Steve took in the scrapes and bruises, chastising himself for adding more pain to the obvious mix of Bucky's injuries.

"Pretty sure I deserved that one." Bucky flashed a crooked grin before taking a long pull from the flask again. His gaze wavered slightly when he met Steve's eyes. "I don't think you'd ever purposely hurt me, punk." 

The smile widened and Steve felt instant relief flow through him. Bucky had a way of doing that too, making Steve feel like he could never do any wrong despite his contrary behavior when he was young. With Bucky pressed to his hip, Steve let himself relax, let himself take in the jovial atmosphere. He chuckled with the antics of the men, paying special attention to Bucky's power to still rivet his audience, keeping them hanging on his every word even though every drink muddied his memory and ability to form coherent sentences.

Steve waited Bucky out, content to just experience him again. At least until Bucky loudly declared he needed to take a leak. Then he apparently forgot how to lift his feet when he attempted to step over the tree, stumbling to the ground, the flask more important to save than his face as the forest floor came quickly up to greet it.

Steve grabbed Bucky's arm, but whether it was his state of relaxation, the exhaustion that had seeped into his brain in a manner of a few minutes, or the sweet memories that stuttered his heart, his reaction was a little late. Bucky collided with the ground, the sound echoing in his Steve's ears even as he leapt over the log and hauled Bucky back up.

"Good gosh, Bucky. Are you all right?"

Bucky lifted his head, a new gash quickly forming on his forehead in a trickle of blood. But he was grinning like a loon—the big jerk. "Thought my mug needed a little more character. Dames like that, don't they?"

"Your mug is messed-up enough," Steve replied. He held Bucky by the shoulders, dipping his head to look into his eyes. "Think you've had your quota for the night, Sergeant?"

"Is that an order, Captain?" Bucky's smile never faltered as he swiped at the blood on his face. 

"If that's what it takes."

Bucky never asked what the statement meant. He snatched the flask from the ground, turning it upside down as he snuck a feigned dejected look to the watching men. The ploy worked when the smaller soldier handed him his flask. Bucky flashed his white smile again, tucking the bottle into the waistband of his fatigues.

"I bid you gentlemen a good night. Seems the captain needs someone to babysit him on the way to his quarters."

Steve shook his head, whispering, "Big jerk" under his breath. He decided to counter the slip-up and address his men at the same time. "Sleep well, men. I'll make sure the sergeant doesn't break his ugly mug before he reaches his tent."

Without another word, but possibly a little heat in his cheeks, Steve took Bucky by the elbow and led him away from the fire.

"Seriously, man. If you have other things to do—"

"Shut up, Bucky," Steve said as he dragged him up the hill. "Can't we talk about something else? Geez."

Bucky tugged on Steve's arm, planting his feet so he could swig from the flask. "You're in an awful hurry to not talk about it."

"Bucky," Steve warned, unable to add any authority to his words.

"Change the subject, right?" Bucky let himself be led again. "How about that uniform, huh? Tights, Stevie? Really?"

"Glad to see being taken hostage hasn't made you any less of a jerk."

With a snort, Bucky yanked himself from Steve's grip only to wrap his arm around his neck. "Jesus, keep forgetting how damn big you are now."

Steve bent his knees so he could remain under Bucky's arm, under his control. "Still me though."

" _Everything_ get bigger, pal?"

"What?" Steve wrenched away from Bucky when realization hit him. His cheeks lit up like some of the fevers from his past. "Bucky! How could you—"

Bucky held up his hands but quickly doubled-over with laughter. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but it was a fair question."

With a shake of his head, Steve turned his back and continued walking, his pace quickening as he went. Bucky stumbled up behind him, seizing Steve's hand. Steve let himself be stopped and spun to face his smirking friend. He hadn't expected an apology or even any kind of regret—that wasn't Bucky's style—but he also hadn't expected to be dragged into Bucky's strong embrace, Bucky's firm hand gripping the back of his head, his scent surrounding Steve like an old home movie.

He whimpered as he fell into Bucky's arms and hung on for dear life. "Ah, Buck." It was reminiscent of how he'd felt when he'd pulled Bucky up from that metal table in Zola's laboratory—warm, long overdue, like he was suddenly his old self again.

"Missed ya, buddy," Bucky breathed into Steve's neck. 

They stood that way for mere minutes, the party only a dull roar in the distance but the silence thick and palpable between them.

Bucky pulled away first. "Booze always did make me soft in the head."

"I missed you, too." Steve shoved Bucky's shoulder in a means of ignoring the sudden shaking of his hands. " _Sometimes_. Does it hurt?"

"What?"

"Your head."

Bucky blinked at him.

"You almost knocked yourself out back there. How much have you had to drink tonight?"

"An illegal amount, I presume."

Steve hadn't realized they'd started walking again; an easy pace, shoulders touching casually as Bucky drew another drink from the flask. 

"Seriously though. How you holding up?"

Bucky shrugged in that way Steve still saw in his memories, all manly man with no regard to having actual feelings. "No complaints."

"S'good. They're talking about shipping you home."

"Ain't gonna happen," Bucky said, his voice stronger despite the repeated sips of booze. "Doesn't seem like we won the war yet, does it? Pretty sure I've got unfinished business here."

Steve shook his head, shortening his strides as his tent came into view. "Not going off half-cocked, I hope."

"Naw. I hear that's more your thing than mine, punk. Always kind of was."

"I've changed," Steve insisted. "You taught me to use my head instead of just my heart. Maybe it finally stuck."

Bucky stopped in front of Steve's tent, leaning against the tree beside it. He settled his gaze on Steve, his eyes still booze-glazed but focused nonetheless. "I heard you _weren't_ really looking for the 107."

"What do ya mean?"

"I _heard_ you were looking for me."

Steve tried to mimic Bucky's non-committal shrug. It didn't fit him any better than the damn stage costume he'd had to wear. "Same outcome. So what's it matter?"

"Doesn't," Bucky said. He scuffed the toe of his boot in the dirt, dropping his chin to his chest. "Never expected to get out of there. Thought about a lot of things when I was trying to ignore whatever the hell they were doing to me."

"Do you know what they…do you remember what they did?"

Bucky waggled his head a little too long. "Don't really wanna. Not sure how conscious I was most of the time. Probably better that way."

"Bucky, I'm so sorry. I wish I knew what to say."

"I think whatever they were giving me made me dream."

"Nightmares?"

"No." Bucky shook his head again, peering beneath his lashes it to meet Steve's eyes. "Sometimes about ma or the girls. Working on the docks, dates—stupid stuff like that." He smiled crookedly, almost shyly as he slid the rim of the flask over his lips.

Steve swallowed thickly, inching closer to Bucky and sliding a hand over his shoulder. He hated the bruises yellowing Bucky's skin, the dark circles under his eyes, the tiny drops of blood still leaking from the fresh wound. He suddenly knew he'd give up his new body, his new title, everything _new_ in his life to go back to those Brooklyn streets with Bucky at his side. 

The old Bucky, the future Bucky, the present Bucky. It didn't matter. Just go back to the Bucky who always had the answers, always had a sharp tone but forgiving grin when Steve got himself into mess after messed-up mess.

"And you wanna know something else?" Bucky leaned in close to Steve as he downed the last of his flask then tossed it into the darkness.

"Sure, Buck," Steve whispered. He hadn't meant to barely choke the words out but something about the moment suddenly set his heart to beating as fast as those asthma attacks he still remembered with unfortunate clarity. He reached deep for the courage he knew he was supposed to have earned in spades from the serum, but still had to force the words. "You waiting for me to say I'm proud of you? Because you know I—"

Bucky swatted the side of Steve's head, startling Steve into silence.

"Naw, this is real…real, like, hush hush, you got it?" 

He pressed a finger to his lips and hissed louder than Steve had spoken. Booze mixed with a little over-indulged drool trickled from the corner of Bucky's mouth as he giggled against his digit. Steve swiped it softly away with the pad of his thumb, his hand seemingly moving on its own accord.

Bucky didn't seem to notice. He draped his previously flask-busy hand around Steve's shoulders and pressed his nose to the side of Steve's neck. All the air rushed from Steve's lungs, his nerves immediately on alert and his heart pounding impossibly faster. He scrabbled for words to diffuse the situation, even though he wasn't sure what the situation actually was.

"Are you gonna…are you just—what the heck are you trying to say, Buck? Is it about what happened with Zola?"

Again Bucky didn't seem aware of Steve's flailing limbs or bursting heart. He drew Steve even closer, causing him to bend his knees and flatten one hand against the rough bark of the tree he'd been using to prop them both up.

"I dreamed, Stevie," Bucky repeated, his voice close enough to Steve's ear to send vibrations down his spine. "They must have given me some kind of drugs because I dreamed a lot."

"About your family?"

"You were always there…in my dreams, I mean. Sometimes you were fighting some stupid punk, the sweat pouring off you, the guy even twice the size of than me. You told me you could handle yourself, and you know what? I always knew you could, but damn, Stevie, I liked being the one to help you, to save you from yourself."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Steve rocked his hips to the side just enough to slip his arm around Bucky's waist and hitch him up from his downhill slump. "Why don't we talk about this tomorrow? We can reminisce about all the times I was a blockhead and you were the hero tomorrow, all right?"

"But sometimes you were still you then, but I was me after the war. All scruffy and worn like an old pair of boots that nobody wanted anymore."

"Bucky—"

"Thing is, you wanted me with you or maybe you just waited for me all that time. And I liked it. I liked coming home to you, kinda like we did in the old days when you were sick and I was out working, except you weren't sick and it was more like one of those horrible old romance flicks my ma always liked." 

He chuckled against Steve's neck, the heat of his booze-infused breath a reminder to those old days Bucky had been talking about. The days when Steve's body just never seemed to get over the chill of one ailment before another wrapped his bones in ice.

"Now I ain't saying you was some kind of dame or nothin'. No, you were still you and I was still me, but maybe I looked at you like one of the women I pranced around town." He paused, the quiet going on so long Steve wasn't positive Bucky hadn't just gone to sleep on his feet, or more like passed out. 

Steve dug his fingers into Bucky's middle, adjusting his footing so he could bend to look Bucky in the eye. "If you think I'm going to carry you, you've got another thing coming, Sergeant. Not that you never carried me I suppose, and I guess I owe you that more times than I'd like to admit—"

Bucky's eyes cracked open, the flash of blue-gray so beautiful in the moonlight that Steve cut off his own words. He fought to regroup. "Are you all ri—"

The next moment was both surreal and too real at the same time when Bucky's lips collided with Steve's. He didn't even have time to feel shock before he was responding to the kiss, pressing against Bucky's mouth so hard, so forcefully, so desperately, that he tasted blood mixed with alcohol and tobacco and just plain Bucky.

He reacted out of an instinct he barely had to go on; a few mismatched kisses after failed dates that had made him feel worse instead of better about his dating situation in general. But this...this was a whole different ball of wax.

 _This_ was Bucky. _This_ was Bucky kissing him. Bucky palming the back of his head. Bucky grinding against Steve's hip like he really wanted to. _This_ was something Steve had never admitted he'd wanted, never admitted to himself, or, hell no, definitely not his best friend or anyone else in his small, underdeveloped life. This was like the magic of Howard Stark's flying car, the juvenile thrill of copping a feel of anyone he might have wanted to cop, and the pride of realizing he would finally be serving his country all tied up into one neat package then kicked as far as the eye could see. _This_ …was over way too quickly.

Steve hadn't realized he'd closed his eyes, the taste of Bucky's tongue still exciting him, still lingering after the slick mouth was pulled away.

" _Fuck_. Oh heck. I'm sorry. Jesus," Bucky stuttered. 

Steve expected his face to be sour with disgust or at least blushed with embarrassment, but it wasn't. It was red, truth be told, but no more oddly colored than the booze shading it earlier. And he was grinning. He was grinning a proper Bucky grin, the smirk Steve remembered that he pulled out when he told his ma he was sorry for wrecking his new slacks or his teachers when he'd forgotten to do his homework.

"Bucky?" Steve managed after more than a dozen quickened heartbeats of staring into Bucky's dazzling eyes. "Did you mean to do that?"

It was a stupid question overall, but with a slow swipe of his tongue over reddened lips, Bucky's smile grew. 

"Maybe, but I'm still sorry. Might have meant to do it a long time ago and getting boozed up was the best shot I had. Guess I did take all the stupid with me after all."

"A long time?"

"But don't worry, Stevie. It won't happen again and if you wanna go all Captain America on my ass right now you have legal grounds or, you know, something like that. I'm just so damn proud of you."

After giving his head a shake, Steve squinted at his best friend in the world. "Wait. So you were so proud of me you decided to kiss me?"

"No!" Bucky shook his own head in that over-exaggerated way drunken guys had of expressing themselves. He shoved a hand through his hair before planting his feet more firmly and facing Steve dead-on, with only a tiny wobble here and there. "That would make me an asshole, wouldn't it?"

"Huh?"

"I kissed you because I've wanted to do it longer than I can remember. There I said it. Wanna hit me now?"

Steve crossed his arms over his chest, still surprised after so long that they didn't wrap all the way around to his armpits. "No. Well, maybe a little."

Bucky shoved a hand through his hair. "I'm a mess, pal. Can't wait to get a damn haircut then back into the fight. I always hated when my hair got too long. You remember that, punk?" 

Now he was talking about his hair? 

"Bucky…" When Bucky's eyes drifted over Steve's head, Steve deepened his tone. "Focus. If you meant to, you know, do what you did, shouldn't we talk about it?"

"Talking's for chumps." Bucky chuckled as his gaze returned to Steve's. He frowned before peering down at his feet. "Maybe if we'd lived in some other time, some other place. Where everyone owns flying cars, people live in buildings taller than the sky, and Howard Stark is the biggest asshole president America's ever seen. Maybe then I could tell you that all those dames were just a smokescreen to keep my real feelings from coming out. To keep your friendship the way it was meant to be. I worried just as much about telling you the truth and losing you as I did in losing you to one of those big bullies you took on."

Steve shifted his stance uncomfortably, his lungs burning in an attempt to suck in air. It was a familiar feeling, but one he hadn't experienced since he'd climbed out of Erskine's strange capsule. "We can talk about it now, Buck."

"Now's a done deal, punk. You've got the life you always deserved. The life I always knew you'd find without me. Hell, maybe you'll make me an Uncle Bucky. That would be cool, huh?"

"It's not what you think." Steve just knew his voice had to be giving away all the soft feelings in his heart but he couldn't seem to control the tremor in his words or the blurring of his eyesight.

Bucky ignored Steve's plea. "Don't get me wrong, I'll follow you wherever you need me to, for as long as you need, and I won't say things to get in your way or make it uncomfortable for you. I couldn't deal with that."

"Tomorrow. We can talk about this tomorrow when you aren't about to pass out on me."

"It'd be best if I did. Hopefully I can forget I did what I always said I wouldn't." Bucky grinned wide but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Gonna head on to my tent. I'll see you in the morning, too damn early I suppose."

Steve lurched to grab Bucky's arm. "You can stay in my tent, Buck. It's, um, it's closer. Then we can put our heads together before the rest of the day gets in the way, yeah?"

But Bucky was already shuffling away, his gait loose, head thrown back as he looked to the sky. "I kinda hope this isn't one of those dreams I keep having. Seems more real than not, but it's for the best either way, I love you, punk."

"Tomorrow," Steve repeated to deaf ears before he caressed over his bottom lip and Bucky disappeared into the night. "Tomorrow I'll tell you I always wanted the same thing."

But tomorrow never came, at least not in the sense of Bucky and Steve sharing their feelings or having that _talk_. That wasn't to say things between them didn't go back to the way they were before the war, except their roles seemed to be reversed in a manner Steve sometimes felt uncomfortable with. He and Bucky even shared a tent over the next couple of months, maybe a little body heat as well, but the kiss never happened again. 

Whether Steve had just been too tired at the end of every day or too unsure and downright chicken, he never tried to _make_ it happen. And Bucky stayed willingly at his side, Steve's own personal Captain America cheerleader through thick and thin.

Then came Zola and the train and Steve's heart exploding at the bottom of the river alongside the body of his one true love. He'd reconciled that he might have been able to fall in love with Peggy eventually, but in a different and not so heart-stopping way than Bucky. 

But when Bucky fell so did everything Steve held closest to his heart—his real heart, the one residing in a ninety-pound body of aches and pains and frustration.

It was the real Steve that crashed into the ice that day. The real one who gazed guiltily at Peggy's photograph inside his compass. The real one who nervously spoke of dates and dancing because the one he'd always wanted to experience those things with was already gone.

In those last few moments of life, he whispered, "I'm sorry" to the boy, the youth, the man, who'd been responsible for Steve even making it to adulthood, and who Steve loved with every breath in his body. His final thoughts revolved around some other time, some other place, with flying cars and buildings as tall as the sky and President Howard Stark. 

Just him and Bucky…'til the end of the line.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic for this fandom and it's unbetaed so all mistakes are regrettably mine. 
> 
> I still need to tie up some ends for my friends in the Hobbit fandom, and I swear I'll get back there one day. The Durin dwarves are still very much in my heart, but Bucky and Steve have shuffled alongside them and have been clogging my mind for a while. I may continue you this in a series - not sure yet.
> 
> This is for Tush. I really hope she likes it. <3
> 
> Kudos and comments are love - don't forget it, punk. ;) Thank you.


End file.
